


Written In The Stars

by NotNatural17



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Brotherhood, Case Fic, Family, Gore, Horror, I'll add more tags as i go, Mystery, Other, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotNatural17/pseuds/NotNatural17
Summary: Ever felt like you weren't in control of your own life? Like every decision you make is pre-designed, expected - destined.Fate.Well, fate is not the orchestrator of this particular story. A teenage girl is.As a campfire burns and marshmallows are slathered onto graham crackers, a bunch of pre-teens play at being God. Their harmless stories of two ghost-busting brothers turning out to be more than just tales of angels and demons. These chronicles are real. And each decision made for the sake of dramatic irony or symbolism can result in dire consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now, this story isn't my idea. Guilty! I'm a hack. But a hack with a dream. I'm not kidding. I read this post on Instagram that posed the idea of kids at a sleepover telling stories about Sam and Dean and incidentally controlling their fates. An amazing idea really, which I would love for them to turn into an actual episode.  
> Anyway, I had a dream about this one night (I know, very Gothic Lit of me) and decided I would turn this idea into an actual written story. 
> 
> I'm warning you now I'm terrible with updates and it takes me ages to come up with ideas when I'm not stealing them, but I've written a few chapters and thought I'd share them.  
> Hope you enjoy and feel free to comment on it :)

Glowing embers throbbed dangerously beneath a pile of dry logs. Its orange haze grew in size and brightness until it had enveloped the kindling in a candescent tangle of dancing flames.

The night was still, a warm breeze settling itself over the vast forest, subduing each owl call and woodland footfall. That was until an unsettling shriek pierced through the calming barrier.

 _“What?!”_ A young girl with long dark hair jerked so abruptly at the yell that she flung her packet of marshmallows into the air. “I-I thought I saw something.” The boy who had screamed seemed white in the glow of the flickering campfire. His blonde hair was swept back from a forehead beaded with sweat as he held up a shaking finger. The girl followed its point to above her shoulder and turned, seeing nothing but trees shrouded in darkness. “For god's sake Simon!” She scolded. “It’s just your eyes playing tricks on you!”

Simon whimpered in response as the rest of the group began to laugh at him.

Four bodies crowded around the orange flames, watching the tips lick at their marshmallows. The group was young - the eldest being only thirteen. Simon’s wide eyes continued to dart around in suspicion until Callum, who sat next to him, nudged his arm. “Calm down, moron. Nothing’s out there...at least nothing you can see.” The group began to laugh again but each chorus petered out into nothing more than a nervous chuckle. An unnerving silence fell on them.

Lisa flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder, clearing her throat. “We’ve only been out here for an hour. Don’t tell me you’re already going to pack up and go?”Three pairs of eyes blinked back at her and she scoffed in bewilderment. “How about I lighten the mood with a - I dno - a story?”Anna, the youngest of the group, nodded - her strawberry blonde ponytail flicking up and down as she did. Lisa sighed and licked the final dregs of sticky sugar from her fingers.“Simon, are you sure you can handle this or do you wanna walk back to town on your own? I hear the werewolves round here enjoy feasting on lost little boy’s insides.”

“Shut it, Callum.” Simon retorted a note of uncertainty wavering in his voice.

“All of you shut it!” Lisa exclaimed. “D’you want me to tell a story or not?” Everyone instantly fell silent, exchanging a few nervous glances before leaning in as Lisa began...

“The night was uncharacteristically cold and deathly silent; much like the one tonight. There were no owl calls, no squirrel scratchings, not even a breeze that disturbed the brown leaves hanging limply from branches. Frost crept up the bark of spindly trees and swept across muddy grounds. At the centre of it all in a bare clearing; a hospital - desolate, dark and deserted. No person dared to venture across the warped barbed wire or suffocating bracken that enclosed this building. But that didn’t mean it had no visitors. For this hospital was certainly not as abandoned as one would think. The razor wire had been vaulted over, windows had been smashed and graffiti-stained its crooked brick walls. However, not one tag had been imprinted inside the hospital walls.

“On this quiet night with a full moon casting an eerie glow over it all; the hospital had been violated by an unknown presence. The wooden doors had been blasted off their rusted hinges and two sets of boot prints disturbed a thick layer of dust that had settled on the porch. A voice emanated from inside. A deep, gruff voice - calling out a name,” the narrative paused as Lisa hesitantly chose an apt name for her character.

“ _Sammy_.”

 

*  *  *

 

_“Sam?”_

_“Sammy?”_ Dean called out for his brother, hearing the name echo through the empty shell of a hospital. He stood in a long hallway, his torch beam lighting up rusted wheelchairs and crooked doors.

Forty years ago this hospital would’ve been booming. Nurses gliding down the halls with trays of drugs and doctors diagnosing homosexuality as an “illness.” Now it was empty, trashed and infested with a vengeful spirit. But his own safety wasn’t the concern at the moment.

He’d heard a bang. A crash so loud that the soot-stained ceiling had shaken.

Reaching for his phone was pointless, the glowing screen indicated that there was _no signal_ in the area.

 _“Sam!”_ Dean yelled again. Only silence answered him. “Damnit.”

He’d stupidly separated from his brother because the hospital was just so damn big. He’d taken the bottom floor whilst Sam had gone up to the second.

Gripping his 12 gauge, Dean jogged back to the main entrance. _“Sam!”_ He tried again when he reached the bottom of a large, spiral staircase but there was still no answer.

Each step groaned beneath him and he drew back his hand in disgust from the cobweb infested bannister. “Hello?” He called out, his confidence never faltering until his torchlight fell upon a discarded gurney blocking his path. Dean felt his stomach churn with unease as he approached it. A thick, dark liquid stained its dirty sheets and dripped down its metal skeleton. And when he put his hand to it, it came away red and wet.

He vaulted over, all too aware of each noise he made. The silence on the second floor seemed almost deafening. Each footfall echoed across hallways and rooms and Dean winced at each one. This vengeful spirit was not one to be fucked with. It’s been responsible for more than five deaths in the past two weeks.

Both him and his brother caught wind of the hunt from the peculiar state the victims had been found in. All four had been... _operated on;_ Y-incisions sliced into their flesh and each organ removed. And according to the coroner, this had been done whilst the victims were alive and not under the influence of Anesthesia.

However, the perpetrators could still be human. Sick, twisted bastards - but still human.

The only reason Sam and Dean were here and not in their bunker knocking back beers is because there’d been a survivor; a witness to the fifth and final documented murder. The experience he described seemed like a classic vengeful spirit infestation - so the Ghostbusters had been called in to zap it with their proton packs.

“C’mon you son of a bitch, where are you?” Dean pumped his shotgun in anticipation. Assuming his brother was somewhere up here, Dean broke left and began searching rooms. He practically egged the spirit on with numerous taunts; thinking it strange how it still refused to show itself...

 

*  *  *

 

“But unbeknownst to the hunter, the spirits were just biding their time...waiting to catch him off guard - strike when he least expected it...” Lisa paused to look around at her audience. All but Simon sat forward, hanging off her every word with a look of trepidation etched into their faces. “Where’s Sammy?” Anna asked in a quiet voice.

“Still alive - at least for now. He’s looking around the children’s ward on the other end of the second floor. The thick, wooden walls seeming to absorb each of his brother's calls.”

 

*  *  *

 

A doll sat motionless atop a hospital bed that’s sheets used to be white. The doll had lost a blue eye and its brown hair had worn at the top, creating an unsightly bald patch. Sam cringed at the sight of it. It’s ghostly pallor seeming to glow amongst the darkness of the room. Most of the sterile wallpaper had been torn viciously from the walls. The only decoration left adorning them was a small, wooden cross hanging over a child’s hospital bed. He approached it, head cocked to the side.

The cross had been turned upside down.

 _“Sammy!”_ A faint muffle reached his ears and he turned towards the open door. “Dean?!” He called back, but his brother must not have heard him, for there was no reply. Glancing around the room before leaving, Sam saw nothing of interest until his eyes settled back on the doll.

It had moved. He was sure of it.

Torchlight illuminated its disfigured form as he blinked back what must’ve been his imagination. It’s porcelain arms were still fixed by its sides, its head still facing to the right.

 

Until it twisted forward, it’s one eye blinking at him.

 

Sam jerked back. _“Jesus,”_ he muttered, noticing the sudden drop in temperature. _“Dean!”_ he yelled, quickly retreating out of the confining room. Like his brother, Sam held his own shotgun filled with salt rounds and he aimed it at the doll, which had now stood up; its movements jerky and animated like a stop-motion picture.

Admittedly, it wasn’t necessary, it wasn’t imperative, but just out of sheer principal, Sam blew that abomination of a child’s toy to smithereens.

“Come out, come out wherever you are...” he goaded as he backtracked down a narrow hallway. Crystallised puffs of air escaped from his lips with each breath and he whirled at the sound of grating wood. Picture frames lining the hall he stood in began to shake before the glass encasing some smashed simultaneously.

Sam cursed, breaking into a run as glass exploded from both the left and right of him, nicking his cheeks and cutting into his bare hands. “Where the fuck are you?!” He exclaimed wildly, his shotgun aimed at the hip and ready to unleash two salt rounds into whatever dared to materialise near him.

 

_“Right here...”_

 *  *  *

 

“Wait. If the spirit is as powerful as you say, why would it not just appear in front of the ghost hunter and kill him?” Callum interjected.

“Because it’s _messing_ with him; trying to shake his nerves.”

Anna frowned. “But how can it be in two places at once; following both hunters?”

“Well, there’s not just _one_ spirit in the hospital.” Lisa gave a sinister smile, but Anna’s frown only deepened. “If there’re more than one, why didn’t they just kill the hunters already? I mean, they’ve split up and that’s never a very good idea in a place like that.”

Lisa sighed. “You want them to investigate the top floor _together?_ Fine. There goes the suspense. _Happy?”_ Anna and Callum nodded with satisfaction. Whilst Simon continued to sit there, his knees now drawn up to his chin.

 

*  *  *

 

 _“Sammy!”_ Dean called out for his little brother when he reached the top of the spiral staircase but abruptly stopped. He looked around, frowning, sure that he’d already been on the second floor. In front of him, a gurney lay on its side, a dark stain blossoming across the sheets, dripping down its worn, metal skeleton. He approached it slowly, placing his hand on the dirty fabric and vaulting over - only to look down after and see red, wet blood staining his skin.

The sensation felt oddly familiar.

“Dean?” His fleeting moment of deja vu was nudged just out of reach as he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. “You alright?” Sam stood next to him, eyebrows raised with concern. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking that a chapter a week is probably the best course of action with this. It'd be a miracle if I actually stick to that - but I'll try my best. Yay! However, seeing as how this is a continuation of the last chapter and quite short, I thought I'd publish it now.  
> So, hopefully, it all makes sense and y'all enjoy it :)

A makeshift surgery had transformed, what the name tag on the door indicated as ‘Dr Wells’ Office.’ The door had swung open on uneasy hinges, to reveal a metal table surrounded by torn, bloody sheets suspended from the ceiling. Instead of a desk and chairs, there was a wall of black and white photographs. The ones not charred beyond recognition could be identified as pictures of dissected human beings - exposed all the way from bones to brains.

Dean entered, weapon held out in front of him. His breath came out in white clouds of frost and a blue tinge was given to the room by the moonlight filtering in through a window near the ceiling. _“Ugh,”_ He heard his brother gag when walking in. “It reeks in here.”

Dean then saw why. He picked up a bone saw, fresh blood dripping from its serrated teeth. But that wasn’t what he found most alarming. “Look,” Sam nudged him, pointing towards the ectoplasm saturating each surgical tool. In fact, it coated the entire floor.

Dean’s boots sank into it with a sickening _squelch_ as he edged towards the ‘beautiful mind’ style wall of pictures. “All his victims,” he murmured - fingering the musty paper. “Dating back from 1925; the hospital had only been open for a year.”

“D’you think we’ll find his body in here?” Sam called from the other end of the room, pouring a salt line in front of the door.“Either that or just a _piece_ of the dear dead doctor. The creepy bastard seemed to enjoy cutting things up. Maybe he butchered a part of himself and left it here for safe keeping. To forever be a part of this twisted freak show of a hospital.” His records certainly hadn’t indicated his body being placed in any cemetery. In fact, his records hadn’t indicated much of anything as Dr Wells’ body had never been found. Most likely incinerated in the hospital fire twenty years ago.

Dean scanned the wall in front of him, amazed that acts this grotesque and vile actually existed. Old and new victims gazed through dead eyes at him, sparking shivers that ran up and down his spine.

Dr Wells’ makeshift table was behind him. Jars of water too murky to see into sat atop it, along with what seemed to be...a patient’s bloody teeth held in a plastic box. Gums still attached.

The only part not covered in dust and cobwebs were the crooked drawers beneath.

Dean set his torch down, the room lit up enough by the moonlight. He bent down and snapped the rusted lock clinging to the handle. Inside the draw was cleaner than the rest of the room. It contained papers, notepads and- _what the hell was that?_ Dean frowned and moved closer, eyes focussing on... _an eyeball!?_ He recoiled in disgust, about to call Sam to say he’d found what must’ve been the leftover remains, but that was before he heard his brother yell first.

 

  
*  *  *

 

  
“Sam called out Dean’s name too late, for the spirit of Dr Wells had already materialised behind him, having already of made it inside the salt line when it’d been poured. Sam watched his brother begin to turn but Dean’s finger didn’t have a chance to tighten around the trigger before his gun was torn from his grip and thrown across the room. Dean soon followed suit, crashing into the operating table and flipping over it.”

Lisa paused, grinning at the sight of her audience. Anna was gnawing at her nails whilst Callum continued to deftly shove marshmallows into his mouth. Simon, however, seemed to of caved in on himself. All Lisa could see of the boy was a pair of comically wide eyes and a wisp of blonde hair sticking out from his hoodie.

 

*  *  *

 

A deafening crack sounded throughout the deserted hospital as Sam let loose a round of rock salt into Dr Wells. He glanced over his shoulder at Dean’s crumpled form; “You alright?” There was a groan in response.

Pacing over to the desk, Sam peered into the drawer. His face contorted into one of disgust as he saw the mummified eye contained within. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the steel blue iris began to dart around.

 _“No!”_ A ghastly rasp sounded from his left but the crack of a shotgun blast suddenly dispelled it. Soon the shrivelled eyeball and entire drawer were saturated in salt and lighter fluid, a few seconds away from becoming ash. That was until an ear-splitting scream bought the room tumbling down upon both brother’s ears. The glass of the musty window above exploded, shards raining down onto them, a rough, icy wind tearing apart the salt line.

“ _What the fuck is that?!_ ” Dean managed to shout above the agonising shriek.

 _“I think there’s more than one spirit_!” Managing to fumble his lighter from his pocket, Sam went to burn every last trace of Dr Wells from existence but a force promptly knocked him off his feet, battering both his gun and lighter aside. Cursing through spinning eyes, he saw Dean struggling to keep up with the Doctor’s movement; wasting round after round of rock salt.

Sam picked himself off the ground, feeling something wet and warm trickle down the side of his face. Shrouded in darkness, the thing that’d rushed him off his feet hung there - its pale limbs motionless, its gaunt face lolling to one side, only becoming visible in the faint beams of moonlight as a woman’s. She looked as if she were just made of tissue paper and twigs, her long, silver hair settling in a knotted mane around her narrow shoulders. The outfit adorned on her emaciated figure was that of a nurse. Perhaps Dr Wells had never really worked alone.

Faster than he could blink, the spirit arrived in front of him in a blur of dust and darkness. Sam scrambled out of her way and towards his metal lighter by the leg of the operating table. If the two spirits had been cohorts when alive then it only made sense both tethers were kept in the same place. Though burning the entire desk may be safest.

“Sam, _drop!”_ He heard Dean call out just as sharp groping fingers snagged the collar of his jacket. He dropped to the floor, sliding clumsily back towards his gun and lighter. He heard a click from a trigger but no shells leave the barrel.

“Shit,” Dean breathed before his voice was violently cut off by a pair of hands tightening at his throat. Sam grabbed the metal of his gun, turned and let loose a deafening round of rock salt, releasing his brother from the nurses hold. Tossing Dean the lighter with alarming accuracy, he then spun onto his back at the sound of a snarl, not having to aim before blowing Dr Wells into a cloud of coiling black smoke...

 

*  *  *

 

…”

 

“That’s it?”

“Well....yeah.”

“That _sucks!”_

Lisa scowled at Callum’s comment and looked to Anna for support, but she too looked unimpressed with the ‘vagueness’ of her ending.

“ _What?_ It’s pretty obvious what happens next. Dean burns the entire desk in an explosion of flames seconds before Dr Wells and his nurse reappear to stop him. Then both spirits are set alight; screaming and writhing as they’re burnt into oblivion.”

Silence answered Lisa’s explanation. All but the crickets sat in quiet disbelief.

 _“That’s it!?”_ The group turned, surprised, as Simon pulled down his hood and uncurled himself from his human ball. “No more cases, no more characters, no _twist?!_ ”

“I thought you all wanted a nice, short story. A tale that ended happily - leaving plenty of time for you to pack up and go back home, y’know, like you wanted to?” Lisa smiled passively at her friends as they shook their heads in frantic denial.

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell us another story,” Callum announced decidedly. The other two seemed to agree and Lisa laughed. She picked up a stick beside her and stabbed through two marshmallows, beginning to roast them on the open flames. A grin broke out across her face, for she knew that the story of these two hunters was _far_ from over.


End file.
